The Thing: Still Alive
by MisterGutsy
Summary: After being hired by a billionaire, mercenary Brenton and his team travel to Antarctica to find the remains of the Thing; unaware that the creature is still alive. The ultimate in alien terror.
1. The Calm Before The Storm

The sun shined brightly throughout the café, giving the people there a perfect day. But one man frowned, he would have preferred a cloudy atmosphere for what he was about to say. He checked his gold-plated watch for the time, it was 3:58 pm. He had told the man to meet him here at 4 on the dot and judging by the recommendations, this man was never late.

A cup of coffee and a plate of chocolate biscuits lay forgotten next to the man. He had drank only a tiny bit of the coffee and had not even touched the biscuits; in any case he had no appetite. He looked around to make sure he was not being watched, a young couple sat at a nearby table flirting and an old man was reading a newspaper while he ate a croissant. But was he just an old man he thought? His palms started to sweat; he slowly reached inside his bag. There were only 3 things inside of it: his smartphone (a new model released only the previous week), a package containing over $500,000 and a Glock 17 semi-automatic pistol in case things went wrong. He didn't anticipate them to go wrong but he had to be ready.

The old man got up from his chair and his hand reached the pistol's handle. The old man finished the croissant and left, his hand left the pistol. He was just nervous. A minute later his nervousness was confirmed, his watch beeped loudly as it reached 4 pm. He flailed around and almost kicked his bag over.

"Careful there."

He looked up quickly. A man in a business suit holding a briefcase looked down at him. He was shocked but got over it quickly. Whispering almost, he said "Are you-"

"I prefer not to use my job title in public Mr. Richards, and yes I am the 'man'." He said. Richards was a bit taken aback at the usage of his name.

"Please sit down." He said offering the seat, "Can I get you anything- waiter!"

"Water will do Mr. Richards." The man said quietly.

A waiter walked over and Mr. Richards called for a water. A minute later it was delivered. The man in the suit took a long drink while Mr. Richards watched anxiously. The man in the suit set the glass down, ¾ of it drunk already.

"So Mr. Richards, about the job…" he said.

"It is a simple one for which I am offering a large sum of money for."

"I still need a few more details for my team and I." he announced.

"Very well. As you know I own a large international company that mass produces weapons."

The man in the suit nodded his head.

"Our competition is taking over the market and we have already suffered from many financial losses, I've had to fire 30% of our factory workers. That's almost 10,000 people."

"Go on."

"With my immense wealth, I learned a few months ago of a government base in Antarctica, I have some business in Antarctica myself as I run cruise lines there. Anyways, one day I was informed of a man who was found walking across the ice. He was mentally and physically exhausted and appeared to have been walking for a few days. We have no idea how he survived."

The man in the suit gave a sign to go on.

"All we ever got out of the man was his talks about some creature, some _Thing, _that attacked a base he was working at."

"And you took his word for it?" asked the man in the suit.

"Of course at first I didn't believe a word the man said. But I was definitely intrigued at his origins so I did some research and it all checked out. There is a base there and contact with it was lost. We know that they found something."

'Why not just send one of your own teams to see what's there?" asked the man in the suit.

"I did as a matter of fact. I sent the team nearly a month ago, they haven't returned." He said firmly.

The man in the suit raised his eyebrow. "They're missing?"

"Yes but they're nothing to me, just grunts." Mr. Richards said dismissively. The man in the suit did not react to this lack of care for workers, he was used to it by now though it wasn't the way the man in the suit treated his workers.

"I suppose you don't want me to find the missing men?" asked the man in the suit. Mr. Richards let out a small laugh before clearing his throat.

"No, I want you to find out what they found there and bring me a sample. It would benefit my business and destroy the competition."

"Right, so how much will you pay?"

"$500,000 now and $500,000 when the job is done. One million dollars, more than you've ever been paid I'm sure."

The man in the suit twirled his glass of water before setting it down again.

"I'll accept the job."

"Excellent, I expect the sample by the end of the month. Here is your initial payment." Said Mr. Richards. He slid over the package. The man in the suit opened the briefcase and placed the package inside; Richards saw a handgun before the man in the suit closed the briefcase.

"I'll have your sample by the end of the month Mr. Richards."

"Great, see you then."

The men shook hands and parted ways. Richards hailed a cab while the man in the suit vanished in the subway, both men unaware that their meeting had been watched. A blonde woman watched the cab in which Richards was in drive off. She pulled out her smartphone.

"How quickly can we get to Antarctica?"

In the distance a storm cloud approached and blocked the sun.


	2. Poisonous Intent

After accepting the job, Brenton returned to his private jet on a secluded runway. It seemed to him that a billionaire was paying him a large sum of money to go out into an icy wasteland to search for something that was based on half-assed assumptions and rumors. But it didn't matter, money was money and a million dollars was certainly enough to hire him.

He approached the jet, a man in a pilot outfit meet him outside. Brenton nodded to the man to start the plane, he disappeared inside. Climbing up the ladder to the plane, Brenton sat on one of the many comfortable seats. Apart from the pilots and a single flight attendant, he was the only one there.

The plane left the runway less than 15 minutes later; watching the clouds at first, Brenton became quickly bored and took out his phone. There were no measures on his jet on cell phones so he was free to use it as he wished. He considered calling his team to inform them of the job they would be doing next but he decided not to in favor of telling them face to face.

His team consisted of 7 members (not including himself). 5 males and 2 women. Though he knew their names and got along with them particularly well, he almost never met them outside of work. But he knew what went on in their lives, in fact he know almost every detail about them. Brenton deemed it necessary as to make sure that he could trust his team.

In any case, his cell phone suddenly died much to his frustration. "I barely charged it," he muttered. He refocused concentration on the view outside of the window. A storm was brewing.

Miles away, Mr. Richards was in a state of joy. He had just accomplished the easiest task ever given to him and now the reward of five-hundred million dollars was his. He chuckled as he entered his headquarter building, to think that all he needed to do was to lie to the stupid man's face and then be given an insane amount of money. It seemed almost too good to be true.

As he rode the elevator up to his private penthouse his mind wandered back to those many months ago when he had been contacted by a man who called himself Henry Brown. Mr. Richards knew that wasn't his real name and he doubted he'd ever learn it. It had been a shock to him to find a strange man in black in his penthouse all those months ago sitting in his personal leather chair up in his penthouse. What was even stranger to him at the time was the task that the man had given to him.

Henry had made it clear that he couldn't turn down the task but he didn't plan to anyways. With money anything could be bought and Richards certainly needed it for he was not lying when he said his company was losing money. In today's world, as Mr. Richards had learned too late, you needed changes and innovation to survive. But with the money, he could fund new weapons and who knows? He might even be successful enough to drive the other companies away.

The elevator door slowly creaked open (Mr. Richards decided that once he had the money he'd repair the elevator) revealing his penthouse; a large room with a mahogany desk, leather chair, laptop, plasma screen television and bottles of scotch. Mr. Richards would have loved nothing more than sitting on his comfortable chair but someone was already sitting on it.

"Good afternoon." Said the man. This was the very man who had assigned Mr. Richards the job, Henry Brown as he had called himself.

"Afternoon Mr. Brown, the job has been done." Said Mr. Richards. Henry got up and gestured for Richards to sit down on the chair, Mr. Richards did as he said. Henry paced the front of the desk slowly, like a shark circling his prey.

"So the mercenary…Brenton took the job?" asked Henry.

"Yes it was easier than I thought. Why I thought he was the wrong man, surely my factory workers have more brains than that imbecile."

Henry did not respond to this comment, he kept on pacing. Mr. Richards took notice of this but decided that it meant nothing so he poured himself a glass of scotch.

"Anything to drink? Scotch?" asked Richards.

"No thanks, I prefer to not drink on the job."

"I see." Said Richards. He raised his glass to Henry and took a long drink. He finished the glass and set it down on the table, licking his lips.

"So about the payment," began Richards.

"Ah yes I have it here with me," Henry drew out a suitcase seemingly out of thin air and opened it; green bills flashed out at Richards. Richards reached out his hands to take the suitcase; Henry snapped it close with a slam.

"Hey what the hell-?" asked Richards.

"You were watched during your meeting with Brenton, who knows how many people are already aware of what we're about to do."

"Wha-what?" Sputtered Richards, "Look Mr. Brown I assure you that no one was listening or watching, why I checked myself!"

"Really?" said Henry ominously.

"Yes?" said Richards in more of a question than a confirmation. Henry placed his hand inside his jacket, Richards fell back expecting the blow of a gun but Henry pulled out a folder instead. He threw it at Richards. Taking it cautiously, Richards looked inside. They were black and white security photos from the café. He could see Brenton and himself in the photo and in the distance, a woman with her phone pointed at them.

"No…"

"Yes Mr. Richards, your stupidity has caused this mission to be compromised."

"No, we can get rid of here! You can right?"

"It is too late now Richards, God knows how many people know now. Nothing will stop them from pursing the mercenary and his team now."

Mr. Richards became aware of how dry his throat had become despite the fact that he had just drunk a glass of scotch.

"So-so what do we do?" asked Richards slowly for his throat hurt.

"Hope. Something that you do not have anymore Mr. Richards."

Then Richards clutched at his throat. It was like a fire had been lit in it, then the pain spread to his stomach. He fell from his chair and started squirming on the floor.

"Ho-how?" gasped Richards.

"You aristocrats are all the same Mr. Richards. You think nothing can possibly harm you so you take no care in what you do; even something as regular as drinking could be fatal to someone of your status." He said.

Richards looked at the scotch, it was a different color than what he was used to. He tried, with his last breaths, to reach his gun (which was still located in his bag). His fingers stretched out to grab the bag but then he stopped moving. Richards was dead.

And his killer was already gone.


	3. A House Divided

"Glad you could all make it to this urgent meeting, it regards a new job we've been given." Began Brenton. He concealed a small smirk; he knew that no matter what his team would show up for any meeting he called. Their jobs depended on it.

In front of him standing in a small group was his team of mercs which he had worked with for the past 10 years ever since he had left the CIA. Alan, Ellen, Will, David, Kate, Gregory and Flak. It was almost 4 in the morning but this didn't matter to the group, they had been in situations which required them to stay up for days on end. Each one had their own distinct personalities and advantages which Brenton was perfectly aware of. For example Alan was a good shot with any weapon but he lacked advanced intelligence. Ellen was excellent in seduction and speech but was no more than average with a weapon. The reason that he had hired them despite these weaknesses was to build trust and to improve. The team had made significant progress in both after 10 years.

Gregory was the newest member in the team; he had replaced Brom (who had died in action while in Somalia) as the newest hacker. While highly effective in his job, Gregory was disliked by every member of the team (except for Kate perhaps) simply because he had a bit of a personality problem. He seemed to think of himself as the best of the team, forgetting the fact that the team was a single machine not a rulership. Besides that he was better at Brom in hacking but the team seemed to think that Brom (who was beloved by every member of the team) couldn't be replaced by this cheeky asshole that was barely out of college.

"If he was so great, he wouldn't have gotten himself killed!" Gregory had said once. A while later Will punched him so hard he had to get taken to the hospital. Even Brenton, who saw his whole team as equal, disliked Gregory and had once or twice considered firing him-or worse.

"The job is simple" said Brenton, "We're going to Antarctica, find this base named Outpost 31 and retrieve a sample of this _Thing _that our client, Mr. Richards, believes is there. Then we pack up and head home. If it all goes well, our worst enemy in this will be the cold."

"You gotta be fuckin' kidding." Said Gregory. Immediately the team members groaned in annoyance. Brenton turned his head to Gregory.

"Is there a problem here?" asked Brenton.

"Yeah Gregory is being an asshole as usual." Said Will, the team gave mutters of agreement.

"Now look here, why are we wasting our time with this job? What does our client expect us to find out there? It's a fucking wasteland out there filled with Polar Bears and shit!" exclaimed Gregory.

"Polar Bears live in the Arctic dumbass." Said Alan.

"No one asked smartass." Said Gregory.

"And no one asked you for your opinion so shut the fuck up Greg!" argued Will.

"Look guys" began Kate "I'm going to have to go with Greg on this one. What does our client expect us to find there and why? I mean if he's wrong, we're wasting our time and effort on this one job when there are other ones that are worth more of our time…"

The team talked in agreement, Greg mouthed 'Thank you' to Kate. She mouthed back 'shut up'.

"Alright everyone listen!" called out Brenton, the room became quiet.

"I understand that you want more details so listen. Basically a few weeks ago, contact was lost with a research post in Antarctica named Outpost #31. From what I can tell, the personnel there came in contact with an organism not of this world."

The team stood in silence, stunned at what Brenton had just said. He kept on talking.

"We don't know much but there was a single survivor. When our client found him, he was suffering from hypothermia and frostbite. They managed to find out that whatever this organism is, it killed the rest of the people at Outpost #31. He died a while later. Now my opinion in this doesn't matter but our client wants us to find out if this creature was real or not. If it is, he wants us to bring back a sample; if it's not…well we're getting paid a million dollars either way."

Ellen whistled, Will, Alan and David began to talk. Gregory raised his eyebrow while Kate pulled out a laptop and began typing furiously.

"Everyone in agreement?" asked Brenton, "Raise your hands."

6 hands went up.

"Good, we leave tomorrow."

The warehouse was only 5 years old yet it already showed signs of decay. The floorwork had been torn up as if a twister had come through, the paint on the walls was peeling and the air itself was musty.

None of this mattered to the woman there though; she could care less she thought as she lit a cigarette. It was private and secure, that was all she needed. She held a brown file in one hand while her other hand held up her cigarette.

Outside a car pulled up, its doors opened and she heard some footsteps. The door to the warehouse opened and a bald man in a leather jacket came in.

"On the cigs again Ida?" he asked. She smiled and threw it to the ground, the man stepped forward. She could smell the strawberry-flavored gum he was chewing.

"They're only a guilty pleasure for me."

"Yes I know all about you and your pleasures."

"Unfortunately yes."

"Who would have known you're one to like being choked during-"

"I did not ask you to come here for innuendo, this is actually something that could affect our future."

She passed him the folder. He took it casually and gave it a glance, then his eyes widened and he flipped through the file quickly.

"We need to find out what's there."

After a few more re-reads the man looked at her squarely in the eyes. They were as black as midnight.

"I'll leave tomorrow."


End file.
